A Royal Scandal
by Igrayne01
Summary: One-Shot. Queen Aeryn Cousland deals with the repercussions of being married to King Alistair yet having Zevran as her lover on the side.


**A Royal Scandal**

**Disclaimer: The inspiration for this work of fan fiction hit me after recently completing the ending of "Dragon Age" a second time. **SPOILERS – BEWARE!** After choosing in-game to marry Alistair in what I deemed a political alliance, Zevran confronted me about my decision and asked if we could still be an item. In the epilogue, it informed me that after my lavish wedding to Alistair, Zevran stayed with me in the castle as my lover "for a time." This is the result of all my incessant daydreaming about the events leading up to his departure, and also about Zevran's declaration that "I must admit I do love a good royal scandal." I think it got way darker in the end than what I was expecting, and maybe it's not really canon, but oh well. I think I was channeling a bit of "The Tudors" or something. Regardless, I hope you enjoy my little musings!**

* * *

The mousy-faced man navigated his way along the slim passage of the underground prison with tray in hand, steps dragging as long as he dared to allow for the sound of victims' screams to reach his ears. The tray wobbled a little, jittering the contents—a few pieces of day-old bread, already molding on the edges, a chalice of water that might as well have been drawn from a cesspool, and some unidentifiable substance that was supposed to have passed for butter—in the air. Ervyn quickly righted himself, steeling his resolve, and proceeded along the ever-expanding path as it lapsed into darkness. Thankfully there were braziers to light his way, offering scant comfort as he treaded through the shadows and toward his destination.

He arrived a short moment later to a reinforced wooden door. A pair of sentinels garbed in the colors of the court stood guard in front of the door, shimmering pikes crossed to forbid entry. At the sight of the meek little man with the mussed-up hair drawing closer, the guards stood a little straighter, their posture stiffening to reflect authority. Ervyn's eyes landed on the sharp, pointy pikes with apprehension; he had no doubt in his mind that if even the slightest bit of alarm was raised about his appearance here and his intentions, they would not hesitate to kill him. But Ervyn's visits had grown so frequent that they'd become accustomed to seeing him here twice or even three times a week to deliver the deposed queen her meals.

As expected, the pikes parted way to allow him passage into the narrow cell. Sidling through the creaky door, Ervyn's olfactory senses were accosted by what could only be described as a potent mixture of urine, ale, and other excrement. He shuddered at the thought of the conditions the once-proud daughter of Loghain had been subjected to in the short time since King Alistair had risen to power.

"Your supper, my lady," he announced, using his loudest, most official-sounding voice to avoid suspicion.

Anora's still form was just barely visible in the dim light; at his words, the tousled blonde head flipped about to behold him from where she sat, crumpled against the hay. From the way her body was poised, he could tell she had made this her temporary bed. Just the thought of it made his skin crawl.

"Please, lay it down beside me," her feminine voice trilled. He could definitely sense some exhaustion in her tone, though she tried to disguise it with a noble nod of the head.

Ervyn moved to lay the tray beside her, his hands lingering for a moment on the sides. Anora's glassy blue eyes looked up at him pleadingly, and he snuck a quick glance about before dropping to one knee.

"What news?" she asked.

"Very little in the way of useful information, your majesty," Ervyn said, pitching his voice low. "Although, there is one thing…"

"What is it?" She hardened her gaze at his reluctance to break his silence. "Surely there is something that can help me to be free of these iron bars? Or does it please you to see your queen in such a manner, covered with soot and dirt and Maker knows what else?"

There was that regal tone of hers, returned to her voice once again.

"Of course not, your majesty." After a long pause, Ervyn gathered his courage and responded, "It concerns the new… 'queen.'" He said the word with such contempt that his meaning was not lost on the woman.

Looking entirely too pleased with herself, Anora placed both arms on his shoulders and gently said, "Then tell me. I beseech you."

Ervyn chanced another glance around. Thus far, the guards seemed not to have noticed their close proximity and hushed conversation. If anything, they were sorely lax in their duties and needed a good reprimand. Ervyn would see to that when he returned to King Alistair later on in the day.

"There are whispers of the queen's… indiscretions."

"You mean…?"

"Yes, she keeps a lover in the palace. The king is, as yet, unaware of it."

Anora snorted, her beautiful features hardening into a scowl. "Of course." A smile dimpled the corners of her mouth. "But you will make him aware of it. Bring it to his attention when next you speak with him. I don't care how you broach the topic, as long as he knows."

Inclining his head in a barely visible bow, Ervyn muttered, "Yes, your majesty. As always, I am your humble servant."

"And pray you do not ever forget that."

Backing slowly out of the cell, Ervyn ran a heavy hand through his shaggy brown hair and took a deep breath. Squeezing his wiry, nimble frame through the cramped prison cell, he couldn't prevent himself from smiling with glee.

The Grey Warden would at last be getting her comeuppance.

* * *

In the main hall of the palace, Alistair stood watching his subjects work. Time and time again the servants scurried past him in a mouse-like manner, begging pardon here and there for the various errands they were forced to do, and asking to be excused for their visibility and existence. Alistair liked watching them work; it reminded him of a simpler time when he was able to mingle with the common folk undeterred, before kingship and boring politics had shaped him into something of a recluse. He missed fighting alongside his fellow man, missed the cool sting of a blade in his palm as he hacked away at countless adversaries in rough fashion. But always, his regents and advisors informed him it was for the best. If he was ever to fall in battle, the fate of his kingdom would be undecided, and with no heir to take up the mantle, the country was sure to fall to civil war.

Closing his eyes to ward off these unpleasant thoughts, Alistair rubbed the skin at the bridge of his nose. He was due to meet with his advisors in precisely one minute, and from the looks of it, all but one of them was going to be late.

That one who now stood at the head of the room approached him with strong steps, dipping low in a bow. Ervyn's fancy robes fanned out about him magnificently, like the tail feathers of a peacock. Even Alistair had to feel a little jealous over his attire, given that he was clad in only a tunic and a pair of old sparring pants he'd used when he had been training. He stiffened a little to compensate for the severely lacking appearance.

"Well met, Ervyn."

"Your majesty," the man cooed in his velvet tones, sounding all honey and silk. "I see the others have not yet arrived?"

"Yes, well, you set a date and give them an incentive to get here—free food, no less!—and what do they do? They take their precious time. It's the nature of the beast, I suppose."

"Yes, indeed, your majesty."

With a nod of the head, Alistair motioned for Ervyn to walk with him. Despite his strong build, the king found it difficult to keep abreast of him because his wiry, beanpole legs quickly outpaced him. With a little difficulty—difficult because he had not so much as even held a blade in the last twelve months let alone conditioned his body to the punishing levels of the tough training regimen required by all Grey Wardens—he picked up the pace and was able to keep stride with Ervyn.

"I would be remiss if I didn't at least ask how you are doing before we got down to talking about matters of state—exhilarating as they are."

Alistair's boyish charm shone through in the smile he gave Ervyn. The man had only seen that smile once before—on the visage of his half-brother, King Cailan, right before he rode proudly into battle with dreams of defeating the entire Darkspawn army. Yes, it had been the very same smile, right down to the unusual quirk of his mouth on the right-hand side. Cailan had a most unusual way of smiling that was both comforting and disarming all in one, and with Alistair it was no different. Perhaps it was because of this that Ervyn found his desire to serve Queen Anora waning—though only for a fleeting moment.

"I am well, your majesty."

"And the little ones?" Alistair prodded, his kind eyes showing genuine concern and affection for this man he had come to call a friend and advisor.

"Growing fast as ever. Nelly's done spoiled them, I fear, for they won't eat their supper anymore. All they want are sweets and treats."

Alistair let out a huge belly laugh that filled the room, jarring some of the servants who flitted about on their errands. Within a moment, however, they'd returned to their duties, leaving the two men alone again.

"I should certainly like to see that! Were I you, I would savor these days, Ervyn, for I am told they will pass you by before you know it."

"You'll know the pleasure of fatherhood soon enough, your majesty," Ervyn said at last, coming back to his senses when he realized he was giving him too much information, getting too close. He'd said this to elicit a reaction from the man, and it worked. As expected, Alistair's spirits dropped visibly and his pale eyes clouded over. In place of the boyish man-king who had reigned supreme moments before was a cool husk of a man who looked a good deal older than the thirty years he could only have possibly been.

"Yes, well, I suspect that is a while off yet."

"Of course, your majesty." Disguising the petulance in his voice, Ervyn added with a sly grin, "Is the queen planning on joining us today for the proceedings?"

"The queen is indisposed." Alistair spat out the words as though he'd rehearsed them for hours in front of a mirror. The stiff, impatient delivery confirmed as much. Ervyn smiled inwardly, recognizing that the king's definition of "indisposed" was, in this case, a much more sordid one. Ervyn loved sordid. Sordid was good, especially when it meant getting his beloved queen—so wholly wronged by this cold bitch of a woman—reinstated back on the throne.

"And besides…" Alistair began, scampering about for words to fill the silence, "You know how she hates these things. It seems she hates anything that does not involve killing, slaying, or otherwise maiming tainted Darkspawn creatures. This is what a first year of marriage will teach you."

"A lesson well learned, majesty."

"Now then, what shall we talk of to pass the time until the others arrive? The weather? How ladies are dressing themselves these days? Nug overpopulation in the kingdom of Orzammar? Pick a topic, any topic…"

* * *

Queen Aeryn Cousland sat before the large vanity in the royal chambers, staring with measured intensity at her own reflection, at the tired black eyes that gazed back at her through the glass. She thought for sure the mirror-being could sense her own deep-seated fears and anxieties and was laughing at her. Her usually hollow cheeks dimpled in an angelic—or was it demonic?—smile that seemed to mock her misfortune. She drew a deep breath and tried to clear her thoughts, but nothing worked.

Glancing away quickly, Aeryn gripped both sides of the dresser to steady herself, taking short, slow bursts of air in through her nose and releasing them through her mouth. She was told by doing so it would calm her nerves, but nothing seemed to be helping.

In the year since marrying Alistair, Aeryn and her new husband had received their share of heartache. First, a small skirmish that brought her husband away from her and to a nearby city, leaving her alone in the castle for great lengths of time. Second, a sucker punch to the gut when she learned that she was miscarrying the first child they had miraculously conceived together despite the taint on both of their lives. In desperation, she had sought out her lover, her royal consort, the only man who knew what she was going through: Zevran.

As always, the handsome elf had been willing to lend his services—be it his conversational prowess or his skills in bed, which led them many times to take a tumble in the sheets in the middle of discussing important, possibly life-changing matters. Aeryn was determined to make today different, however; she had invited her lover to her room once again, under the guise of sex he was probably thinking, but she would speak to him seriously about her anxieties and the increasing pressure Alistair was placing on her to conceive a child. And no amount of romantic massages, lustily whispered Antivan words, or hot breaths upon her neck was going to convince her otherwise.

Running both hands through her long, waist-length blue-black hair, Aeryn bit her enviably full lips to give them the appropriate rosiness and then pinched her cheeks to make them look more flushed. Zevran was not picky about her appearance, but she was; she wanted to be tantalizing enough to be a temptation to him, even if she wasn't intending on having things go the usual way.

A swift rap on the door informed her he had arrived. Shooting quickly to her feet, Aeryn smoothed both hands down over her scanty beige dressing gown, which revealed just a slip of leg with one strategically placed cut. Her hand reached for the door and she grabbed the blonde elf with both arms to bring him inside the room before they could be seen together.

"What? No dinner, flowers, gifts of little lethal poison? You spoil me, my Warden."

With a slight glare, she latched the door and checked to make sure it was secure.

"Very funny, Zev."

He began walking lazy circles around her, his calculating eyes seeming to latch on to some hidden insecurity she had stashed inside of her for the moment being. The way he was looking at her with those mesmerizing eyes of his was disarming, to say the least. Aeryn felt herself go limp all over before reminding herself to get a grip.

"You know, my fair Warden, when you sent word that you wanted to see me in your chambers, I must say I didn't know what to think. It sounds as though the itch has returned, yes? And you are looking for a bit of… satisfaction?"

"Stop calling me Warden. I am your queen now."

"Oh? And how should I treat my queen?" Zevran asked, one gloved hand sweeping her curtain of black hair up to give him access to her delectable neck. His lips lingered teasingly for a few moments in the air above her skin, not wishing to yet give her what she wanted. Fighting the enormous desire that swelled inside of her, Aeryn walked forward and away from him.

"With respect, for one."

Zevran rolled his shoulders in a shrug. From her vantage point, Aeryn could see how well-muscled his chest was, how his armor clung to every sinew, every tendon in his body _just so_, how it amplified and exaggerated the powerful musculature with careless abandon, allowing her eyes to run wild as they took their fill of him.

"And when have I ever not given my queen the worshipfulness she deserves?" he asked, advancing on her in a predatory manner as his gold eyes narrowed to slits. His steps were light and soundless, a testament to his assassin's training and the technique he had perfected through years of practice. "I have spent many hours worshiping her body as I should, and I'd gladly spend many more, oh yes."

Right before he had reached her, his lips mere inches from her own, she spat, "Zev, we need to talk."

With a sigh, the elf backed off slightly, coming face to face with her. "What about?"

"Alistair."

He grinned devilishly, making a _tsk-tsk-tsk_ sound with his clicking tongue. "Alistair, Alistair, Alistair… always Alistair! Why not let us indulge in more… _pleasant_ diversions?"

His velvet accent slid like honey down her spine, weakening her to his advances. It wasn't long before she found the distance between them closed, her arms strewn about his neck, his hands on her hips, lifting her into his arms and moving with her toward the bed.

She soon found her mouth enraptured by her lover's, and she threw herself into the embrace without any care for the consequences. Her hungry hands wound in his gold mane of hair, undoing the thin braids that came tumbling down to tickle her cheeks. This close, she savored the smell of him—all leather, cinnamon, and a hint of musk—and the feeling of his hands on her body, stoking a desire in her she sought to be quenched expediently.

Zevran was never one to deny her her desires; in two swift motions—Maker bless those swift hands of his!—he was free of his armor and atop her in the soft, plush fabrics of the bed she shared with Alistair. Always, their couplings brought them to the bed, or the floor, or the vanity, or any other place they landed when their frenzied lust overtook them, and always a pang of guilt hit her afterward as she realized what she was doing to her husband. None of it mattered, though, in the aftermath of their lovemaking, when they were exchanging sweet nothings and "pillow talk" (as Zev liked to call it).

Today, she lay back against the sensuous red sheets of the bed, one hand poised beneath her head to hold it up as she looked down at him. He lay there with a look of extreme satisfaction on his face, having just held and touched the woman he loved. Aeryn smiled down at him, but the smile was bittersweet; what had brought them to this point? There had been a time—before the battle with the Archdemon—when they had been free to revel in their love for one another at the campfire they had built with their party. Zevran visiting her tent had become a nightly occurrence, so much so that the loveable Wynne often remarked on the sheer volume of their lovemaking, which was oft to be overheard by all their companions. There was no way Alistair could have been blind to it… Perhaps he was in denial. All the same, Aeryn couldn't stand the thought of sneaking about behind his back, no matter how much pleasure and fulfillment it gave her. She had promised to give him an heir, and thus far, she had not lived up to her end of the bargain. There was certainly no way he could begin to turn a blind eye to her indiscretions very much longer, especially when the fate of the kingdom lay at stake.

Consumed by these thoughts, she elicited a loud but surly sigh.

"Disappointed are you, my dear? Normally the sounds you make are much more—enticing—than that."

Zevran's hands worked the taut skin of her shoulders as she lay there looking down at him, her face a mask of confusion. She smiled and sunk into his kiss, savoring the soft feel of his lips upon hers. He was the first to deepen the kiss, his tongue pleading entry into the velvety recesses of her mouth. When he saw that she wasn't enjoying it as much as she did normally, he stopped the motions of his mouth and took a calculating look at her.

"You are troubled, my dear. Tell me what it is."

"I don't know… it's just…" Her finger drew imaginary patterns on the soft blanket. "_He_ is growing impatient with me. His regent says that if we do not conceive a child by the next year, he may have sufficient cause to divorce me."

Zevran lay back against the pillow in repose, one arm behind his head as he stroked away errant strands of hair from her face. It was unusual for him to be quiet and just listen to her, but it was also a welcome change.

"With every day that goes by, I get more and more agitated at the thought of what will happen if I don't… _perform_ my duty." She winced at the thought of having reduced herself to little more than chattel, which was what Alistair's regents would have had him consider her as if they'd had their way.

"Do not let these thoughts trouble you," he said, his thumb stroking her cheek with the barest of touches. "Yours is a face that should smile. Such a surly expression does not become you."

Letting off a girlish peal of laughter, Aeryn was happy the elf was trying his best to lighten the mood. He understood her better than she understood herself at times, and if it had not been for him, she would have gone stark raving mad long ago.

"Do you ever stop with this flattery thing?"

"On occasion, yes," he said, leaning in for a tender kiss. Aeryn snuggled up to him, nestling her weight in the crook of his arm. The warmth of his body signaled to her that she was safe and loved, and there was no place she'd rather be than here.

"You're better than you think," she replied after coming up from air.

"I like to think so." His head inclined slightly, presenting to her the cheek with the long, curving brown tattoo on it. His body had been covered with them in places only she was privy to, and it was times like these that she enjoyed exploring them to their fullest extent. She was prevented from following that thought to fruition, however, by the change in cadence in Zevran's voice. "If it concerns you, however, we could try to remedy things…"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean I am willing to do what it takes to help you create that life."

His finger gave a playful light poke to her stomach. A light flutter of activity responded to his touch, though she thought nothing of it at the time.

Aeryn leaned over him, letting the long strands of her hair tickle his face as she whispered, "And what do you think Alistair would do when our child was born with pointy ears and flaxen hair, mmm?"

"I shudder to think," he hissed huskily. "Perish the thought."

They sealed the distance between them with a long, lingering kiss that was beginning to stir her desire anew. If Aeryn had a good grasp of the situation—and she was fairly sure she did—they would be spending quite a few more hours in this room before they were finally satisfied enough to part once again.

Not that she much minded.

* * *

The following day, Aeryn made her appearance in Alistair's personal office at his behest. With him in attendance was his ever-present manservant, Ervyn, and another chief of staff who sought to "advise" him. The moment Aeryn set foot in the small chamber, she was overcome by a thick wave of tension. Looking at the three expectant faces before didn't help to assuage her guilt, either. She stepped inside the room and folded her hands before her as though prepared to greet the jury. The stifling heat of the room was not made better by her gown, which reached all the way up to her neck as though to strangle her. Death by fabric would have been better than any punishment these devious regents could concoct, she guessed.

"Thank you for coming," Alistair said, his head hanging slightly to show his discomfort with the situation.

"Of course, my lord," Aeryn said, her gaze darting from him to Ervyn and back. The way his regent was staring at her was unnerving, as though he had some as-yet unrevealed diabolical plan laying in wait. What it was, she feared to know. "What is this about?"

Alistair nodded to the wiry man beside him, whose blue bug eyes looked too big for his pitifully small head. Ervyn took the floor, beckoning the queen to take a seat.

"Please, my lady."

Obediently, Aeryn sat down, but before Ervyn could begin his line of questioning, Alistair suddenly found the courage to speak. He ran a hand through his short dirty blonde hair and looked as though he was struggling to find the words.

"Ervyn tells me there are rumors floating about concerning you and… a certain assassin who tried to kill you once."

Unflinching, she met his gaze. "Oh? And do you believe those rumors, Alistair?"

Looking very much the wounded puppy, he said, "I'm not sure what to believe. I don't want to, I know that."

He was so earnest that it hurt Aeryn to see him looking so wounded. She battled to hold her tears at bay, however, fearing that by showing her hand she would be condemning herself furthermore.

"Then I think you have your answer."

"Not so fast…" Ervyn began. "If you will, my lady, the king has requested I ask you some questions… some concerns about your whereabouts yesterday mid-day, and last week right before noon."

"I was in my chamber, taken ill with fever, if you must know."

Ervyn regarded her with a humorous gaze. "Indeed, my lady. And do you often moan aloud when you are sick with fever?"

Blushing beet red, Aeryn looked away, averting her gaze. As the color crept into her cheeks, Ervyn nodded, looking satisfied. "Just as I thought. You see, your majesty? I was not lying when I told you the rumors of what I'd heard."

"Is this an interrogation you seek? Fine, fire away," she said, her words cold and clipped as her hands gripped the armrests. "I will answer honestly, anything you want to know."

"I will ask again… where were you yesterday mid-day, and the previous week?"

"I was in my chambers… with Zevran."

Alistair shot to his feet immediately, his face contorting in a mixture of unreadable emotions. As he paced about the room, his hands balling into fists, Aeryn felt a twinge of fear for her life. She knew Alistair had a bit of a temper when irritated, but he would never purposely be violent with her, would he? She was about to find out, either way…

Thinking the better of her words, "I'm sorry, Alistair, I…"

"You… I can't even _look_ at you right now! How could you? I trusted you and you betrayed me!" The accusatory tone in his voice, along with his finger wagging in her face, struck a cord within her. She was almost moved to tears by the way he was reacting to this news. "Just… just be gone from my sight!"

"Alistair—my lord—I can explain…"

"Explain?" He spun about, almost unbalancing himself with his fury. "What is there to explain? You slept with him. You violated the vows you made to me, to Ferelden. You violated the sanctity of our marriage."

Feeling her own anger beginning to mount, Aeryn shouted back, "I explained to you at the outset that it was a political arrangement, nothing more! I never asked anything of you, nor did I desire anything in return!"

Alistair hung his blonde head, her words wounding him beyond repair. It was in seeing his reaction that she immediately regretted speaking out of turn like that.

"Take her from my sight!" Alistair said, waving a hand.

"It's not that simple, my lord," Ervyn said through gritted teeth. "She has committed high treason. She must be punished in the eyes of the law."

"I cannot condemn my wife—ex-wife—_whatever you are_—to die!" Alistair said, overcome by a moment's remorse.

"Then the people will think you weak, a fool. Is that the kind of message you want to be sending to Ferelden?" Ervyn whispered, his voice as slick as oil. "Your people must know you are not a man to be trifled with."

Snorting, Aeryn replied, "I see you have thrown in your lot with a far worse traitor than I, Alistair, if all he can think to do is poison your mind against me. Think of the times we spent in battle fighting. Think of the hordes of Darkspawn we conquered together, victorious, at the head of the army. Think of our battle with the Archdemon, the camaraderie, everything. Think of Morrigan… I allowed her to sleep with you, knowing that it would save us all, even when we were betrothed. Surely my sin is not so grievous in light of all this?"

"That was different," Alistair spat, standing in the corner with shadows adorning his magnificent gold armor. The dragon that was usually visible on his breastplate remained covered up beneath his crossed arms. "Ervyn is right. I cannot suffer an adulteress for a wife."

Falling to her knees, Aeryn pleaded, "Alistair, please see reason! Please forgive me, my lord."

"Take her to the tower and imprison her there until it is decided what I will do with her," Alistair instructed. Immediately, Ervyn sent for the guards, who marched in from outside the chamber to grab each of her arms. As they were pulling her forcibly out the door, she felt the weight of many stares upon her. Shamed, she looked away, and in so doing, she caught Alistair's glance.

"I am with child," she said weakly, her voice so soft it was almost rendered inaudible by the clang of the armor crashing together. "I learned this morning. This may be the king you seek, the one to rule Ferelden after you—after we—die. Alistair, please hear me…"

One heavily gauntleted fist raised in response to her words, cementing her fate as she was guided toward the tower with sobbing cries. Alistair did not want to hear any more; he knew if he found out the truth of the child's parentage—dubious as it was at this early stage—he would not like it.

The last thought that penetrated the silence as Aeryn's crying quieted was that he should have just gone ahead and married Anora when he had the chance. It certainly would have saved him all this grief, this agony.

"Bring the elf to me."

* * *

Anora lifted her head in the darkness to the sound of a man saying "psst!" just overhead. As her eyes came into focus and adjusted to the darkness, the figure overhead took shape. She was not surprised to see the leering face of Ervyn.

In his extended palm was a glittering brass key, which he held before her nobly.

"Your freedom, my lady."

A devious smile spread the length of her lips.

"I knew you would not fail me, my pet. Tell me, how fares the queen of Ferelden?"

"The king has decided to exile her… with my support, of course. She has gone back to the Grey Wardens."

"And her lover, the elf? Insignificant nug that he is…"

"He is never to return to the city again. Word has it he has traveled back to Antiva, to his native homeland."

"That is indeed a relief to hear," Anora said. "You have done well, and for that you have my thanks. Now… for my freedom…"

Her hand grasped the key, feeling victorious, as she rose up and strode toward the exit of her prison cell.


End file.
